There Is Jazz Playing

There Is Jazz Playing

I have gone outside to walk the dog.
I have gone into the street,
into the dusk
that drifts
from the purple-gray sky.

I carry a retractable leash
and a plastic baggie.

I have left the house dark,
soft with overlapping shadows,

but I have left some jazz
on the stereo
even though nobody is home.

The dog and I approach the corner;
she squats.
In the dusk,
I can barely see
the stream of urine
from under her.

We are far from the dark room
where jazz is playing,

where I left some jazz on the stereo
like a plate of freshly baked cookies
left to cool on the stove
in a kitchen brimming with dusk.



--Mariel Boyarsky